Chapter 72: A New Kind of Quest
The image of Frieza, perfectly rendered and pulsing with malevolent energy, seemed to burn itself into my mind. It wasn't just a drawing; it was a proof of concept. A door had just been flung open in my head, and a torrent of possibilities came rushing through.
I waited until the initial excitement had settled. Laron was carefully putting his precious quill and the mana stone back into their velvet case, treating them with the care of a master jeweler. Briza had returned to her sharpening, the rhythmic scrape-scrape a stark contrast to the magical wonder we'd just witnessed.
"Laron," I began, my voice casual but my mind racing. "What would it take to buy that quill from you?"
He looked up, startled, and clutched the case a little tighter. "Oh! I... I am afraid it is not for sale. Not truly. You see, while the quill itself is a marvel, its utility is shackled to the mana stones. And they are... prohibitively expensive. A single stone, like this one, can cost nearly as much as the quill itself on the open market. I purchased it primarily to streamline my business ledgers and illustrate my product catalogs with perfect accuracy. It is a tool for my trade."
I leaned forward, the firelight catching the intent in my eyes. "I understand that. But I'm not talking about ledgers. I'm talking about stories. Picture books. I have ideas, entire worlds of fun and adventure in my head. Stories no one here has ever heard. With that quill, I could bring them to life. I could create something new." I let the offer hang in the air for a beat. "I'll give you five thousand Pele for it. Just the quill."
It was a huge sum, more than most commoners would see in a year. Laron's eyes widened, and even Briza paused her sharpening to shoot me a look of pure disbelief. The rabbit demihuman studied me, his head tilted, his long ears swiveling as if trying to read the truth in my heartbeat. He looked from my serious face down to the terrifying drawing of Frieza, then back again.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. It wasn't a merchant's greedy smile, but the smile of a fellow enthusiast who saw a kindred spirit.
"Kaizen," he said softly, shaking his head. "I would not sell this quill for ten times that amount. Its value to me is not merely in gold."
My heart sank, but he wasn't finished.
"However," he continued, his voice gaining a shrewd, business-like edge. "Your idea... it has merit. The passion in your voice is genuine. I will make you a different offer. I will allow you to use the quill. You may create your 'picture book.' I will supply the parchment and the initial use of the quill's power. In return, I want to see one full, completed edition. If I believe the story is good and can be profitable, we will negotiate a percentage of the profits from its sale. We can discuss the specifics in Silveridge, once I have seen what your mind can truly produce."
It was a gamble. But it was a chance. A way to build something that wasn't reliant on my sword arm or the System's whims. A legacy, however small, that was entirely my own.
"Deal," I said hurriedly, before he could change his mind. "We'll work out the percentages in Silveridge."
Laron gave a satisfied nod and turned back to his servants, discussing the next day's travel schedule. Briza resumed her sharpening with a renewed, almost aggressive vigor, clearly disapproving of her partner's latest speculative venture.
I, however, felt a new kind of energy coursing through me. I stood up, my movements crisp. "I'm going to do a perimeter check."
This time, my patrol wasn't just a routine security sweep. My senses felt sharper, my mind clearer. While I hadn't yet learned to sense the Ki of others, my own internal energy had honed my natural abilities. My eyes picked out the subtle movement of a nocturnal rodent in the undergrowth fifty yards away. My nose caught the faint, musky scent of a fox that had passed through hours earlier. I moved silently, a shadow circling the camp, but my thoughts were a world away.
Which story? The question was a thrilling chaos in my mind.
I could bring the friendly, neighborhood heroics of Spiderman, a tale of responsibility and power, with vibrant, web-slinging action that would look incredible rendered by the quill.
Or the raw, destructive power of the Hulk, a modern-day monster myth that would captivate with its sheer, unstoppable force.
There was the iconic hope of Superman, an alien god trying to be a man. Or the lightning-fast fun of The Flash.
But then my mind drifted back to the styles I knew best. The epic, world-spanning adventure of One Piece, with its crazy powers and endless seas. The ninja world of Naruto, with its themes of friendship, hatred, and redemption. Or the pure, planet-busting martial arts spectacle of Dragon Ball.
Each one was a potential goldmine. A story that could capture the hearts and imaginations of an entire world, giving them something they'd never seen before. And more importantly for me, it was a path to wealth that didn't involve staring down another house-sized lion or a blast of dark magic. It was a way to use my greatest, most secret weapon, my memories of another world.
As I completed my circuit, the forest felt less like a threat and more like a blank page. For the first time since arriving on Ros, I had a plan that was truly my own. All I had to do was survive the bandits, get to Silveridge, and choose a universe to introduce to this one.
The forest at dawn was a cathedral of mist and muted light. The long night had passed without incident, the only sounds the crackle of our dying fire and the distant, lonely calls of night birds. My mind, however, had been anything but quiet. Universes had collided behind my eyes, the web-slung streets of New York, the elemental nations of Naruto, the vast oceans of One Piece. Each one was a viable key to a future that wasn't built on bloodshed. But which key to use first?
As the servants doused the embers and packed the wagons, the decision still hung in a thrilling equilibrium. I had time. I had until Silveridge.
"Ready to depart?" Laron asked, his voice cheerful. The success of last night's demonstration had clearly bolstered his spirits. He looked at me not just as a bodyguard, but as a fellow visionary.
"Ready," I said, my voice crisp. The focus of the perimeter check had settled into a low-grade, constant awareness. My Ki, while still a fledgling current within me, honed my senses. I could feel the individual pads of my feet on the soft earth, could separate the scent of damp pine from the musky odor of a nearby badger sett.
Briza said nothing, merely checking the straps on her horse's saddle with a practiced, violent efficiency. She shot me a look that was part suspicion, part grudging acknowledgment that I hadn't murdered them in their sleep. It was progress, in its own way.
We moved out. The wagons creaked into motion, and the familiar rhythm of travel took hold. The road here was narrower, the canopy thicker, swallowing the morning sun and leaving the path below in a perpetual, green-tinged twilight. The Edelmere was no longer a watchful presence; it was beginning to feel like a lid, closing in.
I rode at the front, my new sword a comfortable weight on my hip. But my true weapon was my attention. It painted the forest in layers of threat and non-threat. A squirrel scrambling up a trunk was a data point. A falling branch was a sound to be cataloged and dismissed. The 11.7% was a ghost, yes, but it was a ghost that had taught me to listen to the silence between the sounds.
For an hour, the only silence was the natural one. Then, the forest went truly quiet.
It wasn't gradual. It was a switch being flipped. The chirping of birds ceased mid-song. The rustling in the undergrowth vanished. The air itself grew still and heavy, as if the world was holding its breath. My horse, a normally placid gelding, tossed its head and let out a nervous whicker.
I raised a clenched fist, bringing the caravan to an immediate halt.
"What is it?" Laron whispered, his ears swiveling frantically.
Briza had her sword half-drawn, her eyes scanning the oppressive green wall. "I hear nothing."
"That's the problem," I said, my voice low and flat. My every sense was screaming. This wasn't the absence of life. This was the presence of something that made life flee.
I dismounted, handing my reins to a wide-eyed servant. "Stay with the wagons. Do not move."
I stepped off the road, my boots sinking silently into the thick carpet of moss and decay. The air grew colder with each step. My hand rested on the hilt of my shadow-iron sword, but the gesture felt futile, like bringing a spoon to a artillery fight. This was a primal fear, the kind that lives in the lizard brain.
And then I saw it.
Fifty yards ahead, nestled between the gnarled roots of an ancient, sickly-looking oak, was the source. At first, my mind refused to process it. It looked like a knot of shadow, a pooling of unnatural darkness that drank the faint light. It was roughly the size of a bear, but it had no coherent shape. It seemed to be made of shifting, viscous tar, and from its form, half-formed limbs, too many, and in the wrong places would slowly extrude before melting back into the whole. It had no eyes, no face, but I could feel its attention like a physical pressure, a cold needle probing at my mind.
It was feeding. Not on anything physical, but on the very vitality of the forest. The oak tree it crouched beneath was bleached white, its leaves gone, its bark peeling away like dead skin. The moss around it was blackened and brittle. This thing was a blight, a cancer on reality.
A notification, cold and clinical, superimposed itself over the terrifying sight.
[SYSTEM ANALYSIS: ENTITY DETECTED]
[CLASSIFICATION: ABERRATION - SHADOW-WURM (LARVAL STAGE)]
[THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]
[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 0.9%]
The number wasn't just red. It was a void. 0.9%. It was the System's way of telling me to make my peace.
The thing, the Shadow-Wurm, rippled. The air distorted around it with a sound like tearing silk and breaking bones. One of its pseudopods, black and gleaming, lashed out not at me, but at the air. Where it passed, the color leached from the world, leaving a temporary scar of grey, dead space.
It hadn't seen me yet. It was simply… existing. And its existence was an ecological disaster.
I took a slow, silent step back. Then another. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. Every instinct, every lesson from the goblin cave and the beast horde, told me to run. To leave the caravan, to leave Laron and Briza and his singing stones, and just run.
But the road was behind me. And on that road was my client, and my only viable path to a future that didn't end in a System-mandated grave.
I reached the edge of the road, my face a mask of forced calm. Briza saw it immediately. She had seen battle. She knew the look of a man who had stared into the abyss.
"What?" she demanded, her voice tight.
"We need to go. Now," I said, my voice dangerously low. "Turn the wagons around. Do it quietly. No sudden noises."
Laron's eyes were wide with terror. "B-beasts?"
"Worse," I breathed, unable to articulate the wrongness of what I'd seen. "It's… a hole. A hole in the world."
It was then that the wind shifted.
A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, flowing from the road… directly into the forest, towards the Wurm.
The effect was instantaneous. The shifting mass of the creature stilled. The tearing sound ceased. In the profound silence, I felt its attention, an intelligence that was ancient, alien, and utterly predatory, shift. It was no longer feeding absently. It was sensing. Tasting.
It tasted us.
The 0.9% flickered, a mocking, digital farewell.
From the deep green shadows between the trees, two points of light ignited. They were not eyes. They were singularities of malevolent awareness, pinpricks of a starless night. They fixed on our position.
The Shadow-Wurm didn't roar. It didn't growl. It simply unfolded. It rose, its larval form stretching, revealing a length that dwarfed the wagons. It was a serpent of nothingness, a river of anti-life flowing over the forest floor, silent and inexorable. The trees it passed against didn't break; they simply… dissolved, their substance erased from existence without a sound.
It began to move towards the road. It didn't rush. There was no need. It was a force of nature, an ending made manifest. Its movement was a terrifying, graceful glide, the absolute silence of its advance more deafening than any battle cry.
Briza's horse reared in pure, instinctual terror. Laron made a small, choked sound, frozen in place.
The 0.9% burned in my vision.
The Aberration was here. The state of our quiet journey was over. The next one would be written in screams and silence.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]